Title: Pancakes

Summary: Stuart walks in every morning with a cheerful, "'Ello, luv." and with every passing day you cringe a bit more.

Warnings: Abuse is mentioned, so back away if that's not your cup of tea.

Gorillaz (C) their rightful owners and all.

The you is Murdoc, beeteedubs.

Stuart walks in every morning with a cheerful, "'Ello, luv." and with every passing day you cringe a bit more.

He always says it through tear tracks on his face, through bruises and scars, through blood still staining parts of his face, all from your hand; he says it every morning.

"'Ello, luv. 'ow're you this mornin'?" and he looks at you for an answer, but doesn't seem all to hurt when you ignore him.

This is routine for him, he handles it well. He uses the kitchen sink to blot away any blood stains he missed, waiting for coffee to finish. Wiggling teeth absently as he taps his foot, music ever at the forefront of his mind; he tries his hardest to keep you happy, by not complaining or seeming too upset by the beatings he'd endured not even ten hours ago.

He might be annoying, but he knows what works, most of the time.

And sometimes, when he's been through more than usual, he wakes up before you, makes you breakfast. He does this because he assumes you're hurting, that something's upsetting you, because he knows he's been extra-good about making you happy, or at least staying out of your way.

You'll sit down at the table, you already know the food's there when you get out of bed.

"Mornin', poppet." Stuart says, pushing the plates and the coffee toward you before he retreats to get his own mug, then run from the room.

He's trying to make you smile, trying to please you, when all it does is make you angrier; and so the cycle repeats.

You have him by the shirt collar in seconds and you're rearing back to punch in his pretty little face, but he's begging, and he's pleading;

"Look, I'm sorry, Muds!" his hands shake like he's about to be mugged, about to be murdered.

"I-I just wanted to make you happy!" he seems ashamed and you couldn't care less.

"I..." swallowing, he tries to back away, "Just- Please it's only seven thirty, can't it wait?"

You stop and you let him go with nothing more than a warning smack on the side of the head.

You let him go because you're in love with the little piece of shit, and he really does know how to make fantastic pancakes.

You hate him for this, and this cycle will continue for years.

Early morning drabble I guess.

Sorry, I'll edit this later. Heh, been a while, huh?

Hope you enjoyed that, R&R, please.